"Dickie is coming down as soon as we pass the other yacht," he said, and, turning to a sailor, "John, tell the _chef_ to have everything ready in a quarter of an hour;" then addressing Madame de Carlsberg: "You are uncomfortable here, Baroness. I told Dickie that he should change his chairs. He is so careless at times. Do you notice these rugs? They are Bokharas--magnificent! He bought five at Cairo, and they would have rotted on the lower deck if I had not discovered them and had them brought here from the horrible place where he left them. You remember? And these plants on deck — that is better, is it not? But has he taken too many cocktails this morning--See how close we are passing to the Albatross! Good evening, monseigneur." And he saluted the Grand Duke--a kind of giant, with the broad, genial face of a moujik--who applauded the triumph of the _Jenny_, calling out in his strong voice:-- "Next year I'll build another that will beat you!" "Do you know I was frightened," said Chésy to Marsh, who, according to his promise, had descended from the bridge; "we just grazed the _Albatross_!" "I was very sure of the boat," Marsh continued; "but I should not have done it with Bohun. You saw how far I kept away from him. He would have cut our yacht in two. When the English see themselves about to be beaten, their pride makes them crazy, and they are capable of anything." "That is just what they say of the Americans," gayly replied Yvonne de Chésy. The pretty Parisienne was probably the only person in the world that the master of the Jenny would have permitted such a pleasantry. But Corancez had been right in what he said to Hautefeuille--when the malicious Vicomtesse was speaking Marsh could see his daughter. So he did not take offence at this epigram against his country, susceptible as he usually was to any denial that in everything America "beat the Old World." "You are attacking my poor compatriots again," he said simply. "That is very ungrateful. All of them that I know are in love with you." "Come, Commodore," replied the young woman; "don't try the madrigal. It is not your specialty. But lead us down to tea, which ought to be served, should it not, Gontran?" "They are astonishing," Miss Marsh whispered, when her uncle and the Chésys had started toward the stairway that led to the salon. "They act as though they were at home." "Don't be jealous," said Madame Bonnacorsi. "They will be so useful to us at Genoa in occupying the terrible uncle." "If it were only she," Florence replied; "she is amusing and such a good girl. But he--I don't know if it is the blood of a daughter of the great Republic, but I can't endure a nobleman who has a way of being insolent in the rôle of a parasite and domestic."